


Baby Boy, You'd Better Watch Your Speed

by bloo_balloon



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers to Enemies to Lovers, Jisung is a mess of feels and pent up frustration, Lee Minho | Lee Know is a Little Shit, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Manipulation, Revenge Plot, Space AU, WE'RE GOING ON AN ADVENTURE Y E E T, that just about sums it up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-04-07 21:44:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19093723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloo_balloon/pseuds/bloo_balloon
Summary: The memories come rushing back like a swarm of angry bees, equal parts honey and venom, equal parts good and bad. "I'm not a part of Enigma anymore," he says with a measured tone.“Oh, darling.” Minho touches the side of his face, and Jisung stupidly hopes it’s all for the sake of their act and not because of some leftover affection Minho still harbors for him. With practiced ease, he leans into the touch and covers Minho’s hand with his own.Act it out. Don't let it get to you.“You’ll always be."





	1. Keep Up, Buttercup

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back to yet another stupid plot bunny that just wouldn't stop harassing the fuck out of me until I got around to writing it. So yeah...
> 
> Enjoy!

 

It’s a given that Jisung would have never visited Laerum’s public gardens were it not for Minho and his weird fixation with big, open spaces with tons of greenery. Something about the need to reconnect with mother nature after being stuck in space for months on end, or so the excuse usually went.

The thought of spending a couple of days on the surface before going back home sounded way too good to pass up, and while Ua-03 would have never been Jisung’s first choice under any other circumstances, it was, according to Minho, the safest planet within a radius of half a light year from the coordinates Jisung had sent him.

And to Ua-03 he went.

It’s been two days since he touched down, but the stiffness in his shoulders hasn’t completely receded and his legs have yet to regain their usual strength.  
  
He takes the long way to the gardens, letting the built-in navigation app on his HoloPoint guide him along the meandering streets of Laerum. He deems it as good exercise for his unadjusted body. His joints pop and it feels like his feet will sink right through the sidewalk with every step he takes, but when he arrives at his destination, he is strangely energized, albeit still sore all over.  
  
He blames it on stupid split second decisions and shitty luck above anything else. And these days it felt like said shitty luck was slowly becoming a constant presence in his life, looming over his head like an ominous cloud and following him wherever he went.

Artificial gravity was a hidden blessing for people like him who were forced to travel frequently. It was one of those things you didn’t think much of until you didn’t have it anymore. And of course the ship he stole off of that bounty hunter on Bwangdo had to have a faulty generator and barely enough fuel to last the trip to Ua-03. Space sucked and flying in zero gravity sucked even more.  
  
If it were anyone else, Jisung wouldn’t have bothered. He’d have filled the tank at the nearest station and gone straight back home regardless of the faulty generator. He’d have probably slept for the next three days and then maybe he’d have gone back to work, this time someplace closer to home. But no, of course he didn’t do that. Of course he couldn’t say no to Minho. There isn’t a second that passes without him cursing his apparent inability to say no to Minho.  
  
But who is he even kidding?  
  
One did not simply deny Lee Minho whatever it is that he wanted. That is to this day an unwritten rule of sorts and it’s also one of the easiest things Jisung and his group of friends had agreed on back when they were still kids living out of each other’s pockets.

Chris may have been the unanimously agreed upon leader of their little band of misfits, but even he wasn’t immune to Minho’s sweet talking which really said something about the things the smarmy bastard could get away with.

But maybe it was more than that with him. Maybe it tied in with how close he’d been to Minho before it all went to shit. Maybe there was still something that drew him back time and time again, despite his mind screaming at him to not let himself be caught into Minho’s games again.

“ _You’re not a pawn, Jisungie. Even if you don’t realize it, you’ve always been one of the players_.” Those were Minho’s parting words the last time they saw each other, and to this day Jisung still doubts their credibility. Probably just as much as he doubts that he’ll like the reason Minho wanted to see him in the first place.

His only consolation is that the weather chose to be on his side that particular day. It was warm and sunny and there wasn’t a single cloud in sight. He’s almost glad he decided to take this detour to meet Minho, not because he is looking forward to seeing him, but more because he gets to bask in the sunlight before having to return home to 24/7 rain again.

For the umpteenth time since he’d walked past the open gates of the gardens, he checks his HoloPoint. Eleven twenty three.  
  
He uses the remaining time to buy popcorn from a nearby vendor with so many layers of cloth covering his face, Jisung briefly wonders if he (she?) can even breathe underneath all that. Only the man’s mismatched eyes are visible and it takes a lot of effort on his part not to flinch under the smoldering gaze.

“How much for a small one?”

The vendor raises six fingers, but otherwise remains silent as he serves Jisung his buttery popcorn. He hands him the bag, takes Jisung’s money and inclines his head in thanks.  
  
There’s a vague sense of familiarity in the man’s movements and how his eyes linger on Jisung for a tad too long as the short exchange happens. As far as he knows, he’s not made any enemies on Ua-03, being a planet he had never worked on. Not because there isn’t work to be found on Ua-03, but more because he isn’t so desperate for money to want to put himself through hellish trips to the outer edges of the W Quadrant and back when he has heaps of job opportunities closer to his current place of residence.  
  
It was purely coincidental that he happened to be in the W Quadrant when Minho contacted him, and he keeps telling himself that if he hadn’t been so close to Ua-03, he would’ve just told Minho to fuck off and returned home without a second thought.

(Seriously. He would have.)

Maybe just this once he’d go over his own rule, sell the stolen ship and take a commercial flight back home instead. At least that way he’d have functioning artificial gravity, a bed and five star services. With the fat paycheck that he received on his latest job and however many credits he’d get for the bounty hunter’s ship, he could definitely splurge just this once.

He stuffs a handful of popcorn in his mouth then licks the excess salt off his fingers before checking the time again.  
  
Five minutes late. Perfect.  
  
He doesn’t have much difficulty locating Minho which is a feat in and of itself considering that it’s a Saturday and everybody is out enjoying one of the last days of sunny weather before the rainy season kicks off the following week. There’s children squealing and running around and so much idle chatter filling the air that Jisung has a hard time putting his own thoughts in order, another reason why he tends to get a bit antsy around large crowds.  
  
A young man sitting cross-legged under a giant Whaddarian oak with his nose stuck in a worn paperback copy of Murakami’s Sputnik Sweetheart would never ring any alarm bells to anyone. He looks innocent enough with his light brown shaggy hair, casual clothes and round, wire-rimmed glasses that are a tad too big for his face. His posture is relaxed and he doesn’t seem to have a care in the world.  
  
Jisung however, sees something else entirely; maybe because he‘s been trained to know what to look for, or maybe because Minho is trying to blend in a little too hard for it to feel realistic.  
  
In Jisung’s humble opinion, Minho comes off as a bit of a hipster with that whole getup. Like, who even owns physical copies of books these days?  
  
“Three individuals. One presumably human, and the other two of Xingese descent. Around two o’clock.”  
  
In lieu of a proper greeting, that’s what Jisung gets when he sits down on the grass next to Minho.  
  
“Not even a ‘hi, how have you been’?” Jisung asks with a disbelieving laugh. It’s not like Minho at all to jump straight to the point, but maybe the aforementioned three individuals are worrying enough to prompt Minho to call attention to them.

Between them is Minho’s half empty can of off brand coke and Jisung doesn’t waste any time in picking it up and bringing it to his lips.  
  
“There’s Khedis venom in there,” Minho says conversationally, not once lifting his eyes from his book. It’s not the author’s best work, not by a long shot, but Jisung vaguely recalls liking it the first time he read it when he was a teenager. Maybe Minho developed a sudden interest in the classics? Maybe he resonated with stories speaking of unrequited love and the alienation of the human mind? He wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case.  
  
Despite the halfhearted warning, Jisung takes a sip from the can and is proud to find that he no longer gags at the taste. He licks his lips and sets the can back down together with the bag of popcorn. “Are you going to do anything about them?”  
  
“Depends on their intentions,” Minho answers, turning another page with dainty fingers. There’s not even a scar or callus in sight. Jisung looks down at his own hands and instantly feels jealous. “I mean, who knows? Maybe they just have a keen eye for aesthetics.”  
  
“You think they bothered to follow you here just because they think you’re hot?”  
  
“We’re, Mr. H,” Minho corrects in a light tone. “No need for false modesty. That’s not like you at all.”  
  
It’s with great difficulty that Jisung refrains from rolling his eyes. “I’m off work. Can you not ‘Mr. H’ me when I’m off work? Besides, it’s unlikely that a bunch of thugs from some third world planet even know my face or name.”  
  
“Yeah, but they might know mine. Quick, pretend like I just told you a joke.”  
  
Jisung spares Minho all but a glance before he sighs and decides to humor him.  
  
The laughter feels genuine to his ears. Not too loud, not too obnoxiously high-pitched, just the right amount of enthusiasm. He thinks putting his arm around Minho’s shoulders will make it look more believable so he does just that.

_Just an act. Nothing more._

“What do you mean by that?” Jisung mumbles, quiet enough that only the two of them hear. It’s not that he needs the added precaution with all the buzzing around them, but one can never be too careful. There are some species known for their abnormally good hearing after all. “Do you know these guys?”  
  
Minho finally looks up from his book with a small smirk. Jisung doesn’t know what to make of it, so for once, he keeps his mouth shut. He takes another sip from Minho’s drink, then throws his head back and guzzles down the whole thing in one go. It was far from his first choice of drink, but he’d been way too thirsty to care. “I haven’t seen that brute of a man before, but the red-haired twins do look somewhat familiar, I guess.”  
  
“You guess? That’s no help at all,” Jisung hisses through gritted teeth. ”Is that your angle? Lure me out in the open so you could stick a target on my back?”  
  
“Oh, but that would be so… _boring_. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t shy away from doing the deed myself.” At that, Jisung’s hold onto him tightens in warning. Minho’s smirk somehow gets even more infuriating.

Technically, it’d take a fraction of a second for him to punch Minho square in the face and maybe knock some teeth out in the process, but attracting anymore unwanted attention won’t do him any good at this point and as much as he loathes everything Minho stands for, it’d be a real shame to ruin his pretty face. “Come on, Sungie. You used to be so much fun back in the day.”  
  
“Oh, I don’t know,” Jisung comments offhandedly. His eyes are trained on Minho’s face the whole time, but the thought of their potentially dangerous stalkers doesn’t stray from his mind. “Is that before or after you and that trigger happy maniac you call your _associate_ decided it’d be fun to blast my ship right out of the sky?”  
  
“Nothing personal, darling,” Minho grins. He snaps the book shut and stuffs it in the front pocket of his oversized shirt. Jisung takes that opportunity to adjust his position. His legs were starting to fall asleep from sitting on them for too long. “He was being paid handsomely to get rid of you and I just happened to be around the Xalora cluster at the time. Couldn’t pass up on that.”  
  
“Of course you couldn’t,” Jisung grumbles. “Anything to keep you entertained, huh?”  
  
“You know me so well.”  
  
“Well enough to know that you didn’t just make me come all the way here for a simple chat.”  
  
“Is it a crime that I want to catch up with an old friend?” Minho asks, wounded. If he didn’t know who he was dealing with, Jisung might have felt sorry for him.  
  
He rolls his eyes. “Now that’s a word I haven’t heard from you in a very long time.”  
  
There’s nothing on Minho’s face that speaks of any hidden intentions, but that isn’t reassuring in the slightest. Dissimulation was something they were both intimately familiar with after all.  
  
“I have no reason to want you gone. That’s enough to still think of you as a friend, all things considered,” Minho explains with a slight pout. Jisung finds it equal parts disturbing and funny how Minho can say that and still sound so cordial, like he’s merely gossiping with a close friend over tea and biscuits and not potentially planning to backstab Jisung, or worse.

“Is that how you also think of Jungkook?” And only speaking his name leaves a bitter taste in Jisung’s mouth.  
  
“Jungkook is... How should I put it?” Minho ponders. He closes his eyes and hums, seemingly deep in thought. “He’s someone I like very much right now. Could be different tomorrow, not going to lie, but he knows not to get his hopes too high anyway.”  
  
“So he’s just there for your entertainment,” Jisung clarifies. He’s not surprised. “I bet you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was somewhere close by, even. Watching over you like some obedient guard dog.”  
  
“My, if you wanted to see him so badly, you could’ve just asked. I’m sure he would’ve loved to tag along.” Minho smiles, his tone sickly sweet.  
  
“No thanks. I’ve had enough of him to last me for an eternity or two,” Jisung says, scrunching up his face in disgust.  
  
“He sends his regards.”  
  
“Well maybe I should send him my medical bill from last year,” Jisung whispers haughtily.  
  
Before Jisung has any chance to protest, Minho helps himself to his bag of popcorn. “Petty.”  
  
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, you heathen,” Jisung scolds. “Also, don't think I didn’t notice you sneaking glances at your HoloPoint as if you’re waiting on something. It’s unsettling.”  
  
“Still petty. And annoying. And if you absolutely have to know, there’s a race around the Myridon asteroid belt that’s starting in like ten minutes and a local broadcasting station will be providing live commentary.” Minho remarks. “Remember how we used to watch these races together?”

“What I remember is that one time you lost nearly twenty thousand credits to me when you bet on that Fraudrian newbie,” Jisung shoots him the most insincere smile he can muster on the spot. “That X01 I bought afterwards was one of the best purchases I’ve ever made to this day and knowing that everything came out of _your_ pocket made it ten times better.” Fuck it, Jisung never denied being petty anyway.

Too bad Minho doesn't rise to the bait. “Ah, how can I forget the X01? So many good memories,” he says, stuffing more popcorn into his mouth. With the way he is chewing so loudly, it's clear that Minho is only doing it to spite him. And damn if it isn’t working. “The Phi antimatter blasters and radiation shields, the cushy seats, the sex. Mhm, _especially_ the sex.”

“It’s a shame your psycho boyfriend made it go boom,” Jisung says.

“Jungkook’s not my boyfriend,” Minho chides. “You should know that I don’t want that title ever belonging to anyone else but you, Sungie.”

Jisung snorts. “I don’t know if I should find that heartwarming or creepy as fuck. Although considering our history, I should probably be leaning more towards creepy as fuck.”

“Ouch. And here I thought I’d bring you here, profess my undying love for you, you’d accept my feelings and we’d live happily ever after.”

“What do you _really_ want, Minho?”

“We’d be the perfect couple,” Minho sighs dreamily, blatantly ignoring Jisung’s question. “We’d be… ah, what was it called again? Oh, yeah! Murder husbands.”

“Centuries old TV show references will only get you so far. Now, you’d better start talking soon or I’ll just take my popcorn and leave,” Jisung warns.

“Aw, not the _popcorn_ ,” Minho whines, putting a hand over his heart and giving another overly exaggerated sigh. “You’d really do this to me?”

“If there isn’t anything important that you have to say to me, then yes. Yes, I would.”

“You’re such a meanie,” Minho sticks out his tongue. “First, you leave without telling anyone where you’re going, then you go off the grid for god knows how many months. Which, by the way, _rude_. I basically had to whore myself out to get a solid lead on your whereabouts.”

“Minho—“

“Of course not literally, you silly goose,” Minho is quick to backtrack, placing a finger to Jisung’s lips to silence him. Other than the brief glance in their supposed stalkers’ direction, Minho remains entirely focused on Jisung, rooting him in place with his gaze. “I may like you, but I’d like to believe that I still have some shred of dignity left, however small it may be. Of course everything got ten times easier once Jungkook got the job to hunt you down. I mean really, why didn’t I think of going to him in the first place? He’d have sniffed you out free of payment because he’s just that much of a crowd pleaser, the little bastard. Even if he’s not entirely right in the head.”

“I think he’s more of a _you_ pleaser,” Jisung shoots back. “I genuinely feel sorry for the poor sod. I hope he realizes that he, just like everybody else in your life, has an expiration date.”

It’s a lot more that he’d like to say, but at the last second he stops himself and thinks better of it. He’s still clueless as to why Minho wanted to see him on such short notice and his patience is already stretched so thin he might just snap and actually go through with punching Minho’s smiling face into oblivion. A part of him had always secretly wondered how Minho would look like with a black eye, a busted lip and his ego taken down a few notches. Even when they were kids, somehow it had always been Chris, Changbin and himself that took the brunt of their injuries whenever something would go down in the slums. Minho had always been quick on his feet and that compensated for his lack of physical strength at the time.

Jisung laughs, closing his eyes and sucking in a deep breath.

_Don’t let it get to you._

But unbeknownst to him, that just gives Minho the opening he needs to close the distance between them once more. “But that’s the thing, _darling_ ,” Minho whispers, his lips brushing ever so slightly against Jisung’s ear.

He curses the traitorous little gasp that escapes him. Of course the bastard would remember what makes him tick and abuse that to his heart’s content.

_It’s just an act._

And as if that isn’t bad enough, Minho’s hand is slowly inching up his thigh, his touch as light as a feather, his long fingers splayed delicately over the thin material of Jisung’s trousers.

He shudders.

From an outside view, it probably looks like nothing more than a little bit of harmless fun, or some teasing couple shenanigans that don’t really warrant anybody’s attention, but Jisung suddenly feels way too hot under the collar and when Minho decides to go the extra mile and give his thigh a slow, deliberate squeeze, he nearly whimpers. “You’ve always been an exception to that rule.”

Fuck. Fucking fuckity _fuck_.

_Is this still an act?_

“If—If you’re done here...” Jisung stammers, the words dying out in his throat before he can get them out. He pushes Minho’s hand away as if burned and moves to get up. He can’t be here anymore. But just as he think he’ll finally be able to make his escape, Minho pulls him back in, enveloping him in a tight hug.

_Act. Act. Act._

_Why is he_ ** _still_** _here? Why isn’t he fighting it?_  
  
“Don’t walk away from me, Jisung,” Minho murmurs, and for once he sounds just as broken as Jisung feels.  
  
Jisung gives a mirthless laugh. “Did they put you up to this?” He doesn’t push Minho away this time, but he doesn’t reciprocate the embrace either. It’s been months since he’d allowed himself to be held like this. It’s been months since _Minho_ held him like this. “Because if I hear they did...”  
  
“You know they’d never bear any ill will towards you,” Minho states firmly. “Remember that promise we made back then? All nine of us?”

And this is exactly what Jisung dreaded the most.

All the memories come rushing back like a swarm of angry bees, equal parts honey and venom, equal parts good and bad. “I’m not a part of Enigma anymore,” he says in a measured tone. 

“Oh, darling.” Minho touches the side of his face, and Jisung stupidly hopes it’s all for the sake of their act and not because of some leftover affection Minho still harbors for him. With practiced ease, he leans into the touch and covers Minho’s hand with his own. _Act it out, don’t let it get to you._ “You’ll always be. Once you’re a part of Enigma—“  
  
“You’ll never have to walk alone,” Jisung recites mechanically, like a wind up music box. “What is this? Some kind of weird trip down memory lane?”  
  
“It could be if we feel like it,” Minho shrugs and retreats a safe distance away from Jisung. Finally he is able to breathe again. “We could stay here and reminisce all day if it were up to me. Or better yet, you could tell me what you were doing all those months after your little disappearing act. You know I'm great at keeping secrets.”  
  
“One, that's quite possibly the biggest lie you've ever told, and two, it doesn't matter how many times you pester me about that, it's still not gonna happen.” Jisung says with a pointed stare. This is good. Anger is good. Anything to get his mind off what had transpired between them these past ten minutes.  
  
Minho gives an exasperated sigh, but otherwise remains silent as he resumes gobbling down Jisung’s popcorn until there is none left.  
  
In the time that passes without any of them talking, Minho checks the watch on his HoloPoint two more times.  
  
Their supposed stalkers haven’t once moved from their place and frankly, Jisung doesn’t know what to make of that.  
  
He’s probably just being too paranoid for his own good.

Maybe today will be just like any other day. Yeah, that’s it. Once he’s done here, he’ll go back to his hotel and start packing for his trip back home first thing tomorrow morning. No setbacks, no unplanned detours, just a normal, boring day. 

“He’s a looker,” Minho says at last, inclining his head discreetly to his right. “The red hair, the fair skin and quite the nice build to boot. It’s a shame he chose to swing with the wrong crowd. Probably dragged his sister into it as well.”  
  
It takes a moment for Jisung to realize Minho is referring to the Xingese twins, who haven’t taken their eyes off of them all this time. So much for being subtle.  
  
”You don’t know what might have pushed them on this path,” Jisung argues. “It’s not like _we’ve_ been doing what we do because it’s fun.”  
  
“That’s debatable, really. But this...” Minho glances down at his HoloPoint and Jisung realizes with a sinking feeling that he’s smiling. And it’s not a pretty smile at all. He’d seen it countless times to know Minho is definitely up to something. “Honestly, I think the saddest part is that they didn’t realize they were getting in way over their heads.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
A blood curdling scream pierces straight through Jisung’s eardrums, followed closely by two muted thuds that almost get swallowed up by the noise of the crowd.

And Minho, being the true embodiment of chaos that he is, turns to him with the biggest shit eating grin and winks.


	2. Let Me Decide for You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was kinda difficult to write this and it somehow still didn't turn out exactly as I had wanted it to even if it's been in the making for the past month and a half. 
> 
> But without further ado, here's chapter 2.
> 
> Enjoy!

_Make friends with danger and you’ll never feel scared again._

Dumb thing to say, Jisung would come to learn later in life, but there was a time when he used to live by that motto. 

He didn’t have time to be scared back then. It was either act, bullshit his way out of whatever sticky situation he’d inadvertently get himself into, or end up dead in a ditch. 

And somehow it had worked. 

By thinking like that, he’d won fights where he’d been so unfairly outnumbered he was sure he wouldn’t make it out in one piece. It’s not that he wasn’t afraid _at all_ , it’s just that he’d surmised that letting his fear control him would do more harm than good.

Now that he thinks better on it, his _darling_ mentor would say that from time to time as well. Not necessarily out of the goodness of her heart or that she particularly cared for him much, but more so because if he managed to stay alive and do what he was meant to, she’d fulfill her own personal agenda without having to do much herself.

It was kind of frightening how much Minho had taken after her in that regard.

But Jisung himself had taken some of her teachings to heart as well and although begrudgingly, he has to admit that it was partly because of her that he managed to stay alive for as long as he did.

He lost count of the number of times he’d almost been captured and had barely gotten away. Be it wit, resourcefulness or sheer dumb luck, he’d always get away by the skin of his teeth, just because he was able to put his fears aside for a change. 

He’d even had a gun pointed at him and his mind hadn’t gone blank from fear or panic or whatever any normal human being would feel while staring down the barrel of a semi-automatic pistol. Not a blaster, but a real pistol with real bullets that hurt just about as much as anyone would expect. 

Blasters were effective, sure. A beam from one of the high power models could cut through a limb like a knife cuts through butter, but those heavy duty ones were (and still are to this day) bulky and expensive, so much so that only the military could realistically afford them, but guns? Guns were cheap as fuck and although they were getting increasingly difficult to acquire nowadays, back when he was a kid, any average Joe with a few hundred credits to spare could get one. At least that was the case for the hellhole of a planet he came from. 

Where other worlds were thriving and making significant technological advancement with each passing day, Cerulean-19’s development was stunted by civil wars and totalitarian, power hungry leaders and their corrupt governments. 

Where other, more privileged children had only ever known wealth and luxury and unconditional parental love, he’d opened his eyes to a world of famine and disease and death. He’d seen children be killed, raped, forced into labour. He’d seen soldiers use elderly civilians as target practice. He’d seen things much, much worse than he is seeing right now. 

Panic, that’s what he’s seeing. 

The generalized, messy, people-trampling-over-each-other kind. 

There are so many of them dashing towards all the available exists, pushing and screaming and knocking over whatever object or person is unfortunate enough to be in their path. 

And for the first time in what feels like forever, Jisung is scared. He’s rooted on the spot, his feet seemingly unable to move, his mind racing with thoughts of worst case scenarios that he would only bear witness to without being able to do anything to prevent them, or even save his own skin.

“ _You’ve got twenty seconds_.”

He parts his lips to speak but strangely, he can’t hear himself at all. He has no trouble hearing the roaring crowd, their voices and the sound of their footfalls mingling into one disastrous cacophony as they continue to escape past the gates, but he can’t hear his own voice. 

This has happened before, he knows. Once or twice, maybe but he’d found himself with his throat closed up like this before. 

From fear? From desperation? A mix of both maybe?

He isn’t entirely sure anymore. What he knows, though is that his lips are moving. There’s no sound coming out, but he’s mouthing the words like they’re a long forgotten prayer once again remembered. 

_Twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen—_

He can almost smell it. The stench of rotting corpses and charred flesh mingled with the suffocating fumes from the old standard issue military Epsilon-12 Fighters that dotted Cerulean’s skylines in times of war. 

_Fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven—_

Then there’s him at ten and he’s just a dumb, weak, impressionable kid who thinks he can see the good in people’s hearts, no matter how wicked they appear on the surface. He doesn’t know what ‘redeemable’ means, but he believes every wrong doer deserves a second chance.

Even the ones hunting down kids for sport.

He is a pale, skinny little thing dressed in clothes way too big for his body and he’s running for his life, tripping over his own feet and coming close to falling onto his face on more occasions than he can count. Apparently his shoes are also way too big. 

He’s dirty and bruised and so goddamn hungry, but most of all he’s scared shitless. 

_Four, three, two, one—_

And then suddenly he’s not back there anymore and just as suddenly, Minho’s face comes into focus. He’s got that stupid expression on his face, the one that almost makes him look like he has the capability of caring about somebody else other than himself, the one that Jisung hates the most. 

He almost feels like crying for letting Minho see him like this; vulnerable and distraught and so visibly shaken. 

And of course his moment of self doubt wouldn’t be complete without his mentor’s words ringing inside his head like a broken record. It’s easy to build her face from memory and it’s even easier to imagine exactly how her voice would sound like; smooth and with the barest hint of a lisp coupled with a heavy accent that betrays her origins. 

“ _How utterly disappointing_.”

And yes, he supposes he is. 

“ _If I’d known you’d be such a let down, I would have gladly turned you in to the police that night. But alas, it was my lack of judgement that brought me here today. Foolish of me to believe that you could ever be more than a filthy homeless runt_.”

“ _You’re wrong._ ”

“ _Then prove it to me._ ”

The worst thing about being scolded by her was probably the fact that she’d never once raised her voice. Not at him, not at Changbin, hell, not even at _Hyunjin_ who, at the time, seemed to have made it his life's goal to act out and behave like a total brat whenever she was around. He’d have preferred shouting and yelling any day over that eerily quiet voice, calm and devoid of any kind of emotion.

If he had to compare it to something, he’d say that being scolded by her felt a lot like being doused from head to toe in icy water then left out in the cold with the soggy clothes sticking to your body. And he knows from firsthand experience how much that sucks. 

Ultoran Vice Admiral Camille Seydoux. A mentor, a mother figure and a complete and utter cunt all at the same time. A three for one deal that ended up being both a blessing and a curse. 

And to think it all started with a stolen wallet...

Jisung gives an embarrassingly shrill yelp when he feels a sudden pain in his upper arm and it takes him a moment to realize that it had been Minho pinching him, probably in hopes of snapping him out of his reverie once again. 

 _Utterly disappointing indeed._  

But even if he’ll never admit it, the distraction serves its intended purpose. He scans over the fleeing crowd, until he catches a glimpse of red in his peripheral vision. 

Of the three individuals that have been keeping watch over them for the past half hour, only the red haired Xingese man is left standing. Over the commotion, Jisung hears the man give another pained shriek before falling to his knees next to his sister’s unmoving body. Their other companion, the muscular, human man, lies in a similar state, spread out on his back with blood slowly leaking out of the back of his skull from where he’d hit his head. It’s only when the Xingese man cradles his sister’s body to his chest that Jisung gets a good look at her face. 

And then he sees it. 

A splotch of red right in the middle of her forehead. 

He curses under his breath. 

Like a knee jerk reaction, he springs up to his feet and quickly ducks behind the thick trunk of the oak tree he and Minho have been sitting under, all the arduous training drilled into him kicking his body into overdrive. He crouches with his back pressed against the trunk and takes a deep breath. If he’s got his angles right, and he damn well prays that he does, the shooters fired from directly behind his current position. 

“ _Those precious seconds you just wasted could’ve cost you your life_ . _Work on that awful reaction time._ ”

Even if she wasn’t physically there, Camille Seydoux still somehow managed to make him feel inadequate. One of her many “talents”, he supposes. 

He unbuttons his coat halfway and reaches inside to draw his blaster, but before his hand can close around its grip, Minho grabs onto his arm and silently shakes his head.

Ah, of course Minho has something to do with it. A premeditated and very public double homicide seems like something right up his alley. 

He’ll even go out on a limb and guess that the two shooters were most likely Seungmin and Jeongin as it wouldn’t be the first time Minho roped them into committing murder for him. 

When he says ‘jump’, they ask ‘how high’ or however the fuck that saying goes. 

That was kind of Minho’s thing. While he was more than capable himself, he’d always spew some bullshit about how it was way more entertaining to watch from the sidelines while others did his bidding for him.

Jisung is now certain a third shot won’t come, not with how calm and relaxed Minho looks as he taps away on his HoloPoint.

From his current position, he can see a few brave bystanders trying to pull the anguished young man away from the corpses, but he fights them tooth and nail, screaming and crying out his deceased sister’s name followed by a slew of words that are entirely foreign to Jisung’s ears. He’d never done business with people of Xing enough times to bother learning their language.

He almost jumps out of his skin when Minho taps him on the shoulder to get his attention once again. “Over there,” he whispers, pointing to the bench next to the now abandoned lemonade stand. It had previously been obstructed by a group of rowdy kids queuing up to buy drinks, but with them gone, its sole occupant is now visible; a petite man with his hair slicked back and wearing plain yet oddly chic clothing, puffing disinterestedly from a half smoked cigarette. He looks up at the same time Jisung flits his eyes in his direction and gives a tiny salute then stands, stubs his cigarette under his shoe and joins the fleeing crowd, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Changbin? Why is he…”  
  
Just a few meters away from them, there is a man on the phone, demanding for an ambulance to be sent as quickly as possible. The operator is probably a bit slow on the uptake because the man gives a frustrated sigh and goes over what had happened for the third time in less than forty seconds, his voice raising the more he talks. Jisung immediately recognizes him, although he must admit, he’d never seen the man look so distraught, nor had he ever witnessed him yelling at anyone ever, not even during an argument. That’s what tips him off that it’s all an act, and if there’s one thing Jisung remembers about Kim Woojin with unwavering clarity it’s that he’s one hell of an actor. Their eyes meet for all but a moment and then Woojin is turning his back to him, resuming his conversation with the operator as if they’ve never seen each other at all.  
  
“We need to get moving,” Minho’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts. The next thing he knows, he’s pulled to his feet and Minho is dragging him along towards the exit. 

It doesn't take long for them to get lost in the crowd.

 

* * *

 

They’re about three blocks away when Jisung wretches his hand out of Minho’s grasp and manhandles him into an empty alleyway. It reeks of weeks old garbage and vomit and Jisung has to suppress the urge to gag. Couldn’t he have picked a better place?

Minho’s back collides with the brick wall and Jisung can’t help but feel oddly satisfied when he hears him gasping for air from the force of the impact. 

This feeling, however, only lasts until Minho opens his mouth. 

“I remember I once told you I wouldn’t mind it if you slapped me around every once in a while, but you said you were too scared of hurting me. What changed your mind?”

Before he knows it, Jisung has a hand wrapped around Minho’s throat, applying just enough pressure for it to feel mildly uncomfortable. A promise of what is to follow if Minho doesn’t behave. 

But instead of thrashing and kicking, Minho is entirely unbothered by the hand around his neck. He stays pliant in Jisung’s hold, arms hanging limply at his sides, breath coming out in short little puffs. 

“That’s two,” Minho continues, “With us, four. Jeongin and Seungmin are our shooters. Six. Who’s left, Jisung?”

It isn’t much, but it’s the first thing Minho says that doesn’t make Jisung want to go through with choking the life out of him. “It’s— It’s the pretty boys...” he trails off in disbelief.  
  
Minho raises his arm slowly and Jisung squares his shoulders, tightens his hold onto Minho’s neck in warning. The only thing the other man does, however,  is check the time. “H—Hyunjin should be checking into the hotel you’re staying at as we speak. He’s getting the room adjacent to yours. Felix was out there in the park, manning one of the popcorn stands. Who else?”  
  
Ah, so that’s why that vendor looked familiar.  
  
Only one person left, then. “It’s Chris.”  
  
“Chris goes by Chan these days, but yeah, that’s nine. Well, nine plus Hyunjin’s insufferable bodyguard who I still have yet to get rid of.”

The fact that Minho isn’t trying to put up a fight is what ultimately makes Jisung back off. Minho coughs a few times and then takes in a big gulp of air, but otherwise doesn’t look too shaken up. 

“I knew you wouldn’t go through with it, darling,” Minho grins. He moves to adjust the crooked collar of his shirt, then pushes his glasses up his nose. “I knew you still cared.”

Jisung doesn’t care. He _doesn’t_.

“As much as I’d be overjoyed to see you drop dead, corpses can’t talk,” Jisung spits. “And I need you to fucking _talk,_ Minho.”

“You really don’t know, huh?”

“You were sending a message, right? Leave one of them alive to report back to their employers,” Jisung says. It would be the reasonable thing to do. A convoluted way to say ‘mess with me and I’ll mess with you too’. Again, something right up Minho’s alley.

Minho gives a short laugh. He leans back against the wall, stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Those guys weren’t really important, Jisung. Just some loose ends to tie up and an excuse to bring Seungmin here. If he’d known I was actually planning a reunion, like a proper reunion with all of us present, he wouldn’t have budged. He kind of hates your guts, you know?”

Jisung gives a disbelieving laugh. “But of course he’d come running if his beloved fucking _owner_ had a bone to give him.”

“I don’t own Seungmin,” Minho shrugs. “I’m just his favourite enabler. He knows I’m his best bet if he’s stressed and wants to blow off some steam.”

_Yeah, or blow someone's brains out, more like._

“Now, this should be the part where you tell me there’s no way you’d be taking part in our little get together… with a few more insults for added effect, of course,” Minho says.

“Yeah, _of course_.” Jisung mimics.

“But what if I told you, I’ve got something you wouldn’t want anyone to get their hands on?”

And there it is again. That insufferable ‘I know something that you don’t’ grin. 

Jisung sighs. “I’m listening…”

“Oh, you’d better be, because I have your prints. Well, more like Jeongin has them,” It’s a little bit unnerving how much Minho looks like the very picture of innocence. “He’s got them _aaall_ over the rifle he used today. It would be a shame if he accidentally _forgot_ it on that rooftop. And it’d be only a matter of time before the police figure out the building the shots came from.”

And yeah, there’s the bomb dropping. He wondered if Minho would resort to dirty tricks to force him to cooperate. 

Too bad it wouldn’t work this time around. 

“They won’t get a match,” Jisung says pointedly. He’s not surprised Minho’s somehow gotten his hands on his fingerprints. He’d had a million different opportunities to do so before Jisung left and he also had the necessary technology to replicate them no problem. He’d only need one of those scanners the police used at crime scenes and a 3D printer. A primitive way to go about things, but nonetheless an effective one. “There’s no police records that have my fingerprints.”

“Funny thing actually…” Minho trails off. “I’m sure you remember those old databases Hyunjin had fun messing around with. You know, the ones stored on those primitive hard drives that we found back on Cerulean?”

There’d be absolutely no way he wouldn’t remember that day. Woojin stormed off into the city (or rather, what was left of it) after he and Chris had a particularly nasty argument and nearly got himself offed by some random thugs. He returned a few hours later with a nasty gash along his upper arm, a couple broken ribs and a heavily bruised face and broken nose. 

Too wound up from the fight and the adrenaline rush to feel any of the pain, he managed to walk the three blocks to their hideout before his injuries finally caught up to him and he collapsed at the door. 

Suffice it to say, everybody that was in at that time sprung into action, helping however they could to patch Woojin up. 

Whatever Woojin and Chris had argued about was never mentioned again. To this day, Jisung still firmly believes it had been just another one of their silly squabbles, as the two oldest of their group were so tired and on edge during those days, fights would often break out from the stupidest of things. 

But this time, it had gone way too far and one of them got hurt. 

Jeongin had a full on breakdown, one of the very few times his emotions managed to get the better of him, and for the following days, he refused to leave Woojin’s side, and would snap at anyone who even so much as suggested he get some rest. 

Hyunjin, who’d also been present, took it just as badly. Seeing Woojin beaten to a pulp and barely clinging to consciousness was a heavy emotional blow, so heavy in fact that he later managed to convince Changbin to hunt down the thugs and bring them to him so he could pay them back. And pay them back he did. Tenfold.

Chris, however, was a whole different story. 

He didn’t know how to function the following weeks after the incident. The guilt was eating away at him like a hungry beast tearing through its prey. He’d left Changbin in charge of any future operations and locked himself in his room, only coming out to collect the tray of food they’d leave outside his door. He couldn’t even bear to look at Woojin, no doubt blaming himself for what happened. 

The rest of them came back in surprisingly high spirits. Seungmin and Minho had stumbled upon the hard drives while exploring a bunker that they’d uncovered on one of their previous scouting trips and were eager to have Hyunjin take a look at what might be on them. Their momentary happiness, however, was short lived.

Hyunjin did eventually look through everything that was stored on said hard drives and found out all sorts of information on them. Well, not just on the nine of them specifically, but rather on every permanent inhabitant of the planet. Fearing that their authority would be called into question, the ones at the helm of the planet took precautions and under the guise of a population census, they hunted down every permanent resident and registered citizen of Cerulean-19 and got their pictures, names, ages, addresses, and fingerprints among other personal information. Some cooperated, some did not. The majority of them had been young at the time of the so-called census, and until then, they’d completely forgotten about it ever happening.

“Yes, I remember. The same ones that we burned to a crisp in the abandoned church,” Jisung says with a raised eyebrow. 

In hindsight, they might have gone a bit too far with destroying those hard drives, but at that time they felt it was way too dangerous to keep them. What if somebody who knew of their existence came looking for them? They couldn’t afford getting captured over having them. Not when they were so close to ridding Cerulean of the bastards that brought about its ruination.

“But you know how you and Hyunjin didn’t get along back then? You’d fight for the stupidest reasons, I swear.” Minho clicks his tongue. “Well, just in case he ever woke up one day feeling particularly backstab-y, he had some duplicates made before we burned them.”

Jisung’s heart sinks. 

“You wouldn’t,” he hisses. 

“Hmm, you’re right. I wouldn’t. But Hyunjin would.” Minho shrugs. “It’d be so, so easy for the police to find out Han Jisung the selfless, brave revolutionary didn’t actually die in 3061 and is currently out and about shooting people in the head. Oh boy, what a _scandal_.”

“Fuck you.” Jisung spits. “So much for not bearing ill will towards me.”

He takes a step forward, fists clenched, jaw set. 

“I suppose I wasn’t entirely truthful, but what more can you do now?” Minho says flippantly. “The damage is done and we’re on a little bit of a tight schedule so we should be on our way.  If something were to happen to me and I don’t turn up to the hotel by twelve thirty, Hyunjin has the all clear to leak your information.”

That’s it then, the final blow. 

Once again he’s been knocked down, once again he’s lost. 

The only thing left to do is prepare for the shit show he’s sure to come. 

He locks eyes with Minho and sighs. He doesn’t remember it being so hard to admit defeat. “Alright then. You’ve got yourself a fucking reunion.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading and I hope you're having a lovely day wherever you are.
> 
> Leaving feedback is encouraged and highly appreciated. :)


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